Women chant slogans as they take part in Aurat March, Urdu for Women's March, in Sukkur, Pakistan March 8, 2020. REUTERS/Yasir Ali

International Womens Day on March 8 marked Pakistans third annual multi-city Aurat March or womens march. As the Aurat March grows in popularity each year, it has also faced increasing criticism from religious parties like the Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (Party of Islamic Scholars, JUI-F), and well as ordinary citizens disapproving of the March participants demand: gender equality-based social change. In a stark display of the limits on free speech in the country, the marchs slogan mera jism, meri marzi, sparked national debate. A translation of the US pro-choice womens liberation mantra my body, my choice, the slogan was a voice of transnational solidarity with womens movements throughout the world, especially the heavily social media documented 2017 Womens March in the United Statesthe biggest single-day protest march in US history. This slogan, appearing on a placard in the 2019 Aurat March, also is intended to spark the necessary discussion on the place of women in Pakistani society. In the Pakistani context, however, critics see both the march and slogans like my body, my choice as vulgar imports of a liberal, foreign culture. This perceived liberalism, for conservative defenders of nationalism-infused morality, is seen as funded by appendages of the West and as a challenge to the fabric of Pakistans culture and societywhich is largely rooted in Islam and conservative South Asian values.

This said, the slogan was met with resounding backlash for other reasons. The appropriation of a reproductive rights slogan to signal support for womens bodily autonomy was deemed to be a profane sentiment by many critics. Orthodox clerics like Faiz Muhammad of the Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (Party of Islamic Scholars, JUI-F ) argued that Mera jism, or my body, violates the belief that ones body belongs to God alone, while meri marzi or my choice, suggests that one should institute freedom of choice in matters of their own bodies, potentially over social and religious norms. In Islam, devout Muslims are expected to act only in submission to God, following sacrosanct rules about corporeal actions in both public and private. Hence, orthodox followers find it sacrilegious and a threat to society when womensocially expected to be relegated to the private spherepublicly claim the right to do as they please with their own bodies.

This perceived obscenity was oneof the reasons a handful of conservatives brought petitions before the HighCourt in the major cities of Lahore and Islamabad, seekingto prohibit the 2020 Aurat March from taking place there. The petitions were rejectedby the courts days before the march, but a counterprotest formed in the capitalcity of Islamabad called Haya March or Modesty March, where certain protestors threw sticksand stones at Aurat March participants. Despite these attacks, the Aurat Marchwas well attended in the cities of Lahore, Islamabad, and Karachi, and itsparticipants far outnumbered those at the counter-movement.

However, Aurat Marchers are notthe only ones in the fight for gender justice, womens rights, and a place inthe public sphere. For the third year in a row, March organizers recognized Pakistanisocial media celebrity Qandeel Baloch, who passed away in 2016 at the hands ofher brother in a so-called honor-killing. Qandeel, a part-time model andactress, found fame in 2013 after her Pakistan Idol audition was mocked and sheresponded to the judges jabs about her performance on her Facebook account. Herunabashed and witty personality led her to be named one of the ten most Googled people in Pakistan,with hundreds of thousands of Facebook followers. Qandeel went viral in the spring of 2016, when she offered to perform a strip tease for Pakistanicricket player Shahid Afridi, on the condition that the Pakistani team beat theIndian team in the 2016 T20 World Cup. So outrageous was this proposed act ofbodily autonomy by a Pakistani woman that Qandeel was invited onto talk shows, includingone on news channel Neo TV, where themorality of this proposed act was questioned by cleric Mufti Qavi.

Just like the slogan mera jism, meri marzi,Qandeel was criticized for acting in a manner contrary to conservativePakistani culture. Not only does sensually revealing ones body to the public goagainst Islamic principles surrounding modesty, but immodest women threaten thevery nationalism that rests on such gendered internal hegemony.Pakistani nationalism, then, is a language through which gender hierarchies arejustified, and in turn, one privileging masculine prowess and politicalexpression. InJune 2016, Qavi was captured in one of Qandeels video-selfies, in whatappeared to be the closed quarters of a hotel with no one else in sight. Qandeel recorded herself sitting next to Qavi and even wore his hat in a mannersuggesting an intimacy that questioned Qavis religious authority, despite hisclaims that the interactions with Qandeel were innocent. By being physicallypresent with Qandeel alone, Qavi went against the very religious principlessurrounding gender segregation he preaches. Qandeels socially unacceptablebehavior threatened to damage Qavis reputation and, a few weeks later, led toher death at the hands of her own brother. Qandeels do-it-yourself activism notonly pushed the boundaries on the extent to which the average Pakistani womanmay participate in the public sphere, but it also redesigned the publicspheremelding the private sphere with the public sphere through social media.

Yet, as witnessed with thebacklash from the recent Aurat March, the struggle for womensvisibility in the public sphere is far from over. In October 2019, TikTokstar Hareem Shah, aprivileged young woman from the conservative city of Peshawar, went viral forrecording a video of herself in the Foreign Office of Pakistan. The video showed hersitting in a space reserved for political leadersprompting questionsabout how she had access to such an official space.Moreover, coming from a young woman who had typically posted herself singingand engaging in everyday activities like going to the gym, her presence in thisformal political setting elicited public discomfort about an ordinary womansbodily autonomy and presence in the Pakistani public sphere.

This discomfort surrounding Hareems Foreign Office video is an extension of the restrictive norms on womens visibility in the Pakistani public sphere. Hence, while protestors carry mera jism, meri marzi placards alluding to bodily autonomy, the crux of this contentious debate does not just hang on freedom of choice. It demands a broader conversation about societal acceptance of womens visibility in the public sphere and role in politics more broadly. Until Pakistani women are seen as full citizens of the state, and not just national subjects, such seemingly apolitical visual expression will continue to provoke much needed rights-based deliberation.

Zainab Alam (@_zainab_alam) is a Ph.D. candidate in Political Science at Rutgers University, where her research focuses on digital democracy in South Asia.

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MENASourcebyEmily Burchfield

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Women's activism in Pakistan: Limits on freedom of choice, speech, and visibility in the public sphere - Atlantic Council